I Felt Your Shape
by RuminantMonk
Summary: Cloud attempts to broach the subject of his and Tifa's nine-year-old promise: how it's changed, how it hasn't, and how to define it now. And after all these years, Tifa wonders if it's possible for them to reach some point of understanding. Post-AC setting.


I Felt Your Shape

by Ruminant Monk

_Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII._

Cloud sat at the bar in Seventh Heaven, holding his near empty rocks glass in one hand, the other picking absent-mindedly at the corners of a damp cocktail napkin. He gave the glass a twirl, watching the watered down whiskey splash against the last few chips of ice, then downed the remaining liquid. Before setting it back down on the counter, he gave the glass another shake just to hear the pieces of ice chime against each other. Tifa was behind the bar, cleaning its wooden surface with a dirty dishrag. She had one arm braced against the edge of the bar and the other outstretched with scrunched up rag balled in her fist, wiping in wide semi-circles. She stepped closer to him, reaching towards him with the rag to soak up the water ring his drink had left behind.

"Why did you have me make that promise?"

Tifa paused, still flat against the bar. She looked up at him.

"What?"

"The promise. From nine years ago."

She straightened up and met his eyes for a second before turning away. Saying nothing, she disposed of the dishrag with a casual toss into a wire basket under the bar's sink.

Cloud tried again.

"I just mean, knowing you now ... It doesn't seem like you. I was just thinking about it, you know."

Her back was still turned. "I don't know what you mean." If there was a hurt edge to her voice, he couldn't sense it. It was a practiced, measured response – one that felt new to him.

Cloud could see her stand on her toes to reach for a clean glass from the stacked crates of newly washed glasses and mugs near the sink. From the top row, she plucked a rocks glass identical to his. Cloud stood up and leaned forward to push his stomach onto the wooden countertop. Deft fingers reached under the bar and grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey. By now, he'd memorized the location of this particular bottle: it was her favorite, as well as his.

When Tifa finally turned around, he was waiting with liquor of choice in hand, having already refilled his own drink. She set her glass down and waited as he poured in a generous amount.

"You know it's bad luck to pour your own drink," she observed, pointing at his whiskey. A crook of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He shrugged and sat back down on his stool. As the silence settled in again, he watched her, observed her expression as her lips curved back down to resume its neutral half-pout.

"I guess ..." Her voice trailed off.

Tifa stared into her glass. To Cloud, she appeared to be looking through it. She did this sometimes when looking at him, almost as if she were seeing past him, seeing something that existed beyond the surface and shape of his form.

She spoke again, "I guess I've always liked the idea of being taken care of." Tifa looked at him then, kept her eyes locked onto his as she raised her glass to her lips and took a slow sip of her drink.

"But –"

The bottom of her glass soundly met the wooden bar top. "I know. I know I'm capable of taking care of myself. Obviously, otherwise –"

This time, he cut her off: "No, I was going to say that usually you're the one taking care of everyone else. The kids ..." He glanced up at the ceiling to where the children's rooms were, one floor above. "Our friends. Stray mutts, even ..." He chuckled, holding up his right hand to bare a crescent shaped scar mark near the back of his thumb. She laughed and feigned a guilty expression, hiding behind her drink.

"Even me." He was serious again, "God, me, and so many times ..."

Tifa sighed as she set her glass down, hesitating before leaning in closer to him. "I don't need saving, Cloud. That isn't what it's about anymore. I don't think it ever was, really. I mean, it started out as a fanciful thing because I was a little girl who'd read one too many fairy tales, but that's changed. Even if I wasn't totally aware of it then, or really fully understood what it was I'd meant, all I said was I wanted you to promise to come for me, to be there for me when I needed you."

She took his hand then, just barely, cupping hers over his, which by then had curled into a tight fist hard against the bar's hard surface. Cloud's eyes strayed away from hers, choosing to linger on the melting ice in his drink and clear tendrils of water curling out from them. His free hand grasped at the glass and in one wrist-flick, emptied it contents down his throat. Teeth gritted together and he exhaled slowly. She could smell the alcohol under his breath.

"She sort of told me the same thing," Cloud muttered. Tifa's hand tensed on top of his, before releasing and going limp against his knuckles. "She said she'd never blamed me. That I came for her and that's all that mattered."

He pulled his hand out from under hers and reached once more for the bottle. As his fingers wrapped around the squared glass body, Tifa took his wrist and pried it away from him. As she poured him more whiskey, she wagged a finger in his face.

"I told you – bad luck."

She set the bottle down.

"That's another thing Aeris and I feel similarly about, then." To his surprise, her cheery tone had returned. "As for the promise, you haven't _really_ done me wrong yet. Maybe you were a little late a couple of times, but better late than never." she teased, her voice playful.

"I know, it's just …" he looked up at her again, brows knitted. "Tifa, I thought I was going to die."

"Cloud …" He heard her smile fall.

"No, it's just that I told you that I wanted to be there for you and with you and I meant it. Maybe that was the same promise or another one, I don't know, but I knew that I was going to end up breaking it, both of them, and I was tired of having to see you see through all of my promises for me."

He took both of her hands into his. "I couldn't stand it, making you see to me again, making you be strong for the both of us." His hands tightened. "I can't stand it."

"Cloud, stop, I never once minded," her tone began to take on one for the pleading. He shook his head.

"I'm the one who made the promise to _you_, Tifa. It's my turn, now."

Blue eyes strained to hold her gaze. His hands were wound through hers, fingers locked fast around fingers. Cloud wondered what she was looking at, what she was seeing that was inside of him or perhaps on the other side of him.

"Then you know," she breathed. "You know what it is I've been trying to hold you to all this time."

Suddenly, the bottle of whiskey was knocked on its side, whiskey was everywhere, and both their glasses were upended – he was on the other side of the bar next to her. And she was inside of his arms, tucked against him. And for the first time since she was eight years old, she felt small again. For Cloud Strife, it was the first time he truly felt her shape and size and knew himself to be capable and deserving to hold something like it so close.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. It's been nearly a decade since I last wrote fanfiction, but I'm giving it another try to brush up on my fiction writing skills.


End file.
